What We Deserve A Dramione Fic
by saileigh
Summary: Five years after the war, Hermione and Draco find themselves working comfortably together in the Experimental Potions department at the Ministry. When Hermione's world is shattered quite unexpectedly, Draco is annoyed to find that he has to put her to rights; what does she really have to be so upset about, anyway? It isn't like Weasley was giving her what she deserved. [Smut!]
1. Chapter 1

**Author note: **Thank you for taking the time to check out this short Dramione piece! I'm guessing it'll be four, possibly five parts, and I've already got the storyline almost entirely developed, so it should go quickly. I'll be posting this in between chapters of _Between the Pages, _which is much longer if you're looking for a slower, more emotionally charged fic.

Enjoy! And feel free to reach out with reviews and messages :)

* * *

**Chapter 1**

_Mr. Malfoy, _

_Ms. Granger will not be in today. Please make the appropriate accommodations within your department. _

_Thank you,_

_Administration_

Draco stared down at the small memo as it flapped and fluttered under the two fingers that he had holding it down. It struggled for another moment before settling down and straightening out its creases.

He sat back and ran a hand through his hair, muttering to himself.

"Well. What to do now?"

Not that he didn't _know_ what to do - Granger was more than caught up on her paperwork, so he wouldn't have to worry about that. But they'd been taking shifts on the Moonwart potion, specifically because they couldn't trust the small team of Ministry employees working under them to complete each step effectively.

Which meant that he'd be skipping lunch, skipping the late meeting he'd scheduled with the patent office...

Draco's arm shot out and the memo was crushed in his tight grip.

"Really, Granger?"

He'd never admit it, but after four years of working together, he had a habit of speaking to Granger as if she was in the room with him. It helped him order and prioritize his thoughts.

And in four years, she'd never once called out of a day of work. So he didn't even want to consider what could possibly have gone wrong.

Draco glanced at the clock, trying to re-order his entire day as a small part of his mind worried about his colleague. Finding it an unacceptable expenditure of emotion, the rest of his brain quashed it.

_Two days later_

At exactly 7:45 a.m. sharp, the office door opened and Hermione stumbled in, grimacing as her ankle rocked in a heel. She didn't even glance his way, but headed toward her desk and put down the tea and to-go bag she'd been carrying. Then, without turning to face him, she slung her bag onto her desk and started unpacking a ridiculous number of books. I mean, really. Who needed to bring so many books to _work, _when there was a perfectly functional library on the seventh floor?

Draco waited patiently with his quill still poised above the patent documents that he hadn't been able to finish in her absence. He was annoyed and worried all at once. Especially when she turned around.

He'd been ready to give her what for, but paused with his mouth open. Granger's hair was pulled up into a sensible bun and she wore her usual professional clothes; sheer tights, a skirt, a cream coloured blouse. But her face was splotchy and there was no hint of makeup, today. Probably because she'd very obviously been crying.

"Do I want to know?" he asked flatly.

Granger shook her head _no _and walked around the desk, sitting down heavily.

Now they faced one another. He looked down at the patent paperwork, then up once more at her ragged face. And then his quill began scratching away again.

"Ron broke up with me."

The quill stopped.

Her voice was rough and it made him squirm uncomfortably in his chair to realize that she must've _really _cried it out. _Over the Weasel? _he chided internally, but it wasn't something he'd say out loud until he'd navigated this situation. And this Granger, this mess of a woman slumped in her chair, wasn't someone he had dealt with before.

"I'm assuming that's why you've been out the last two days then?" he asked, feeling like an idiot as soon as the words left his mouth.

Granger, apparently too tired to bust his balls, just nodded and brought a tissue up to her nose.

"Yes. And to think - I wasn't even thinking about Valentine's day, you know, I've never been one for romantic holidays, and he seemed in such a hurry to end it all before then -"

Her eyes widened as she met his gaze. "Do you think...do you think it was just to be rid of me before the holiday, or because he had someone else in mind?"

He could see the tell-tale glistening beginning at the corners of her eyes and bit back a groan. Draco hated emotional women. It was why his sex life had all but dried up over the last seven months; he just couldn't be bothered with their anger or self-pity. And here was Granger - Granger! - falling to pieces in their office.

"Granger, I would be entirely surprised if Weasel ever found another person on this earth who was attracted to him. I'm still baffled as to how he managed to keep you for as long as he did."

Well, he must have said something right, because the panic on her face eased just a bit and she sniffed lightly. "Thank you," she all but whispered, and he ignored it for both their sakes, going back to his paperwork.

When he didn't hear Granger start in on any of her daily tasks, which included writing out a meticulous schedule in half-hour increments, he glanced up at her. She seemed to be suspended between the decision to continue moping or to begin the day.

Draco gave her a sharp chuck of his chin and a hard gaze, and she nodded back, leaning forward to sort out her desk.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

By the sixth week of being freshly single, Granger still hadn't pulled herself together, and Draco found it increasingly frustrating. How was he supposed to be a functioning, contributing member of the Experimental Potions department if his partner constantly murmured 'what ifs' and 'woe is me's?

It didn't help that only fourteen days into the breakup, Weasley had been spotted out on the town with some witch that neither of them had recognized. Draco had cleared the hallway and cubicles of the Prophet before she arrived, but she'd swept into their small office with a copy in hand and tears in her eyes once more.

"Is this what he wanted!?" she ranted, waving the paper around and seeming to expect Draco to be able to get a good enough look at the young witch on the cover to judge. "This - this - a blonde!"

She spit the word out as if it was a curse, and Draco had the grace to look affronted.

"Excuse me-" he began, but she cut him off, pacing. Or trying to. Really she only made it three steps before having to turn and start again.

"And the same day he came to pick up the last of his belongings, which incidentally included all of the lubricants -" Draco grimaced - "What am I supposed to think? What will our friends think!? What will Molly think!" she wailed, as if the opinion of the Weasley matriarch was the most precious thing in the world to her.

Draco sighed and stood up to walk around the desk, steadying her by holding on to both shoulders. She wobbled for a moment in her heels.

"Granger. Listen to yourself. Did you _honestly _have it in your plan to pop out six or seven little redheaded runts after a wedding that I'm assuming would take place in an overgrown yard?"

Hermione ignored his gaze, and he knew he must've been close to the mark.

"Well...no, but -"

"Wasn't it just a few months ago that you were telling me about how you wanted to wait until after your next career move before really settling down? That Weasley was rushing things a bit too much?"

Granger stared up at him. "You actually listened to that?"

He snorted, and when he did, was surprised and annoyed to find that she smelled very good. A bit like vanilla and...bergamot? Was that it?

"Of course I did," he scoffed, returning to his own desk. "Can't really ever escape you now, can I?"

The small smile that had pried out of her was the highlight of his week. He never would've pinned Granger as someone to mourn a relationship so ferociously, but then he never would've pinned Weasley as the type of idiot to let go of such a headstrong and beautiful witch.

Wait -

* * *

Ever since the paperwork for the trio of potions meant to fight a rare slew of magical cases of flu had been held up, Hermione had noticed that Draco was getting wound tighter and tighter.

Of course it probably hadn't helped that he'd been out of the game for too long.

("I haven't been laid in _four months!_" he'd exclaimed early on in the week, after a frustrating weekend spent reading up on rare plants from Romania.)

And as much as Hermione found it annoying to come into their cramped office with the air already tainted by a negative attitude, it was somewhat of a welcome distraction when it came to her recently failed relationship.

Luckily some of her logic stuck around, and Hermione didn't _just _spend her time crying. She made a few lists. Weighed options for the future; and for what the future could have been. Actually, the more she thought of it, the more the idea of marrying Ron sickened her. And so it was probably good that he'd ended it so suddenly and without warning. But that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

If she was being honest with herself, which she sometimes was, very quietly in the back of her head on nights when she couldn't get to sleep because the bed was surprisingly large, she'd always assumed she'd be the one to do the breaking up. Someday. When he tried to force her into being a stay at home mother. Or bet all of their belongings on a Harpies game.

"Do you know," she began during one of her better days, when she and Draco were taking lunch in their office to iron out some of the ingredient details of a household potion that was getting to be too dangerous to keep on the market, "he wasn't even really that good at...well, any of it, really. Once instead of flowers he brought me radishes. And that was only at Luna's suggestion. He wasn't going to bring me anything at all, even though Crookshanks had just died and instead of coming home to comfort me he'd met Seamus at the bar to watch a game."

Draco sighed, but she ignored it. She'd spent literal years listening to _his _ramblings and complaints.

"And don't even get me started on his cooking. Molly did not do any of her children a favor, spoiling them to death and chasing them out of the kitchen. I had to explain to him how a whisk worked the first month we lived together -"

And it went on like that for quite a while, ebbing and flowing as her emotional state dictated, oblivious to the tension that grew in Draco's shoulders day by day.

Until the day he finally broke.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Another front cover of the paper, and this time it was a model, so Granger was bound to come in explosively. And she didn't disappoint. Although Draco found himself wishing she had.

She swept into the room with a bag on one arm and a stack of files in the other.

"ROMILDA VANE," she shouted, practically throwing everything onto her desk.

Draco frowned. Something was slightly different today. Aside from the fact that she was yelling.

Well, was _that _really different?

"You'd think the git would remember that time at school, when she tried to seduce Harry with those candies! And then he practically died, after, of course, with Slughorn serving him poisoned mead."

Ah. It was the heels.

"From what Ginny tells me he has actually convinced himself that he was her target the whole time - those candies were meant for him! Because he's such a _catch._"

The heels were just slightly taller than usual, and thinner, bordering on inappropriate actually. Draco's eyebrows rose. But she was back to her usual pencil skirts. The ones that had driven him crazy when they'd first started working together, and that he now appreciated, especially in the middle of his dry spell. Not that the image of Granger's ass in those tight skirts ever crossed his mind when he wanked ferociously before work. Of course not.

"Romilda is in for quite a surprise, if she thinks he's held onto any of his wealth. I know for a fact that she's not hanging around for anything else." She turned and gave him a significant look, which meant _sex. _Draco made a face and tried to ignore the bad taste in his mouth thinking about the Weasel fumbling any woman, much less Granger.

"I swear, the only thing Ron was ever interested in putting his mouth on was a treacle tart, and if he'd eaten anything _else _the way he ate those-"

* * *

Hermione was so startled when Draco stood abruptly that she almost fell back onto her desk, one hand at her throat. She exhaled loudly as he stalked toward her, and shook her head at the spots of ink peppering his collar.

"Look what you've done," she began, but he quieted her with a glare.

"Listen, Granger, if I wanted to hear about your pathetic sex life I'd ask. Now it's high time you stop grouching on about the longest, poorest decision of your life and move on."

He had stopped, but Hermione found herself leaning back incrementally anyway, as she could sense frustration roiling off of him. He saw the movement and took two steps back, sitting on the edge of his own desk.

They hadn't always been so comfortable around one another. Years ago they'd both applied for the same position in the Ministry, although Hermione hadn't known then that he was the competition she was up against. She'd just heard whispers that someone else was giving her a run for her money, and it had heated her ears to know it. Especially as it was an outside candidate - she'd sacrificed a year of her life right out of Hogwarts to working the Administration department, and Merlin be damned if she was going to do that for the rest of her life.

So she'd snuck into Kingsley's office and gotten her hands on the contending report. Which, at the very top, listed its author: Draco Malfoy.

Luckily the manager had only given her a slap on the wrist after finding her in such a compromising position. She'd been worried that she'd lost her shot at the job right there, but Kingsley had only shaken his head and sighed.

"Know your enemies," he'd quipped as he booted her out of his office, but they both knew that the word had lost its bite. Draco Malfoy, among many others, had proven that they'd changed and were willing to make amends.

Which was how they'd found themselves working together in an office meant for one, approved for an extension charm of four feet, which gave them room for two desks, Hermione's extensive filing system, and Draco's ridiculous coat rack. The latter had feet like a dog's paws and made her thoroughly uncomfortable. "It's an heirloom!" Malfoy protested often, which only made it more likely that they had at some point been actual paws.

Draco was now staring at her blankly. It was a look he acquired when he didn't want anyone else to know what he was thinking or feeling, and it gave her pause. She appreciated the use of the look in any of their financial meetings when they were made to practically beg for more funding. But she found herself suddenly uncomfortable with the distance he was creating.

"What?" she asked, dropping back onto her own desk and kicking her feet up on the chair in front of it.

His gaze continued to be void of anything that would let on where he was at mentally, and Hermione began to regret bringing the subject up. She pulled her knees up to remove her feet from the chair and that's when she noticed Draco's eyes drop briefly to where her skirt had ridden up. He couldn't see her knickers, could he?

"Feeling a bit stressed there, Granger, are you?" he asked in a tone of voice that made every hair on her body stand on end. He stood and predatorily crossed the gap between them in two short strides.

Hermione sat up straight. "What are you playing at?" she asked, hoping he couldn't detect the waver in her voice.

His fingers twitched with an unspoken spell and the door locked. "What am I playing at?" he repeated, stalking nearer. "What are you playing at, Granger? Taunting me with stories of your mediocre sex life-"

He had pushed between her knees and she found herself spluttering in indignation. "Well excuse me if my sex life doesn't live up to your expectations -"

"Granger, Granger, that's not it at all." He licked his lips and her eyes lingered on his mouth. "It's the thought that you, a war heroine and the brightest witch of our age, have been missing out on everything that you deserve."

Suddenly he had her by the waist and was pulling her forward on the desk. A clean mug and a snapshot of the Potter family clattered to the ground as she tried to get her bearings.

"What are you-" she began to ask, but Draco knelt between her legs - already awkwardly splayed- and ran his fingertips up her calves.

"And perhaps it has something to do with these little skirts," he added, fingers grazing the hem of the garment. His eyes snapped back up to hers. "Tell me I can," he demanded quietly, shifting his weight. "Tell me I can do this for you."

Hermione couldn't speak. From her vantage point she had a whole new view of his messy, frustratingly white-blond locks, and she found she actually liked the look. His breath was hot on her knees. She didn't trust herself to speak, so instead she simply nodded.

_What am I doing_, she wondered vaguely as he pressed his face into her right thigh, fingers wandering ever higher. He tongued a trail up and just under the edge of her skirt, making her shiver. Malfoy stopped to grin up at her and she shot him a look.

"Don't get too full of yourself-" she started, but then, with another bit of wandless magic, her knickers were gone.

The room was much cooler without knickers.

She started to close her legs involuntarily but Draco's face was buried even further between her legs, and she could feel his breath on her sex. He made a noise of reprimand and gestured flippantly, darkening the room a bit.

"Better?" he asked, coming up for air, and she wanted to ream him out but could only nod. His eyes were dark and heavy-lidded, his long fingers gripping the exposed skin of her thighs, one thumb stroking gently.

She bit her lip and nodded.

He grinned and disappeared again, this time shoving her pencil skirt up far enough that he could press his mouth to her.

_Oh_, she thought, eyes widening at the feeling of his hot mouth dragging across the most vulnerable part of her.

Ron had never, ever done this. He'd gotten visibly flustered at the mere mention of cunnilingus. _Of course Malfoy would be wonderful at it, _she thought bitterly, but gasped as his tongue grazed her clit. He half-chuckled, half-hummed against her and she couldn't help moaning.

Then she lost the ability to form coherent thought at all. All Hermione could focus on was the feel of Malfoy's fingers digging into her bare arse and his tongue laving her from top to bottom. She could feel her own wetness mingling with his spit, and it brought a blush to her face, but she squeezed her eyes shut tight and focused on every sensation of everything he was doing to her.

Just when she started to squirm, he eased two fingers into her, but not quite gently. Hermione gasped and dropped back onto her elbows, moaning loudly now at the combined feel of his fingers pumping in and out of her and his tongue working at her clit.

"I - I want -" she began, but the sentence was never finished. She couldn't put what she wanted into words. All of the frustration of the last few months seemed to build until it was coiled tight within her, and she wanted it _out. _

Draco pulled back from her pussy and she didn't even have enough in her to be self-conscious about his view. Instead she rocked against his fingers, shivering when he murmured, "Are you going to cum for me, Hermione?" because he never used her given name unless they were having a serious argument.

_Yes,_ she thought, but she couldn't get her mouth to respond, and it formed around a moan as he went back to work on her, more vigorously this time. With intention.

He nipped at the delicate skin of her inner thigh just as his fingers curled inside her, his other hand pressing down on her abdomen. She came unexpectedly, quicker than she ever did unless _she w_as the one doing the job, and for a few blissful moments Hermione's world went white. There was no existence of an ex who seemed out to ruin her life via the tabloids; there was no coworker to argue with, no potions that needed to be tweaked, no empty apartment to return to after work.

Instead there was only the feel of Draco's fingers pumping in and out of her at a slower pace so as to draw the orgasm out longer. Sound slowly came back to her and she heard her own moan, deep and throaty and tapering off, as she brought her chin to her chest.

Draco's thumb was rubbing lazy circles at her clit as she came down, making her hips jerk. But his eyes were on her now and she could see the glisten of her wetness around his mouth, smudged across his chin. She flushed as he removed his fingers carefully and eased her skirt back down.

Hermione watched him stand and move back toward his own desk. He adjusted a few piles of paper but she knew that it was for her benefit as she adjusted herself and cleared her throat.

"That was -"

Part of her wanted to go in on him. To fight. Get him riled up; after all, there was already a silencing charm on the office. Why not have it out with him?

But her body was still warm and heavy, so instead she just said "Thank you" quietly.

Draco glanced up at her and nodded as he sat down behind his desk.

"Can we get back to work now?" he asked, but Hermione could hear the hint of something new and uneasy in his tone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author Note: **Thank you for the reviews! Keep them coming :) I'm guessing this story is going to be closer to 6-8 chapters as I wouldn't like ending it on loose ends.

* * *

**Chapter 4**

Draco sat at his desk trying not to be distracted by the sound of Granger's quill scratching across parchment. Usually, she used muggle pens or pencils, but she'd run out.

It had been a few days since their...encounter, and things had settled down. Neither one of them mentioned what had happened. Instead they focused on catching up - which for them was really getting ahead - and prepping for a potion they'd been wanting to collaborate on as soon as free time was available.

Granger seemed calmer and quieter and less worried about Weasley's antics. She'd even thanks Harry politely and carefully turned the conversation when her friend had stopped in to nervously check on her. Draco had dipped out of the office, excusing himself to give them some privacy, but he couldn't help glancing at her crossed legs. And remembering what it had felt like to have them draped over his shoulders.

If he was honest, he'd thought about eating Granger out way too much after _the event._

And okay...maybe a few times before it happened, even. But it wasn't his fault. He was on a hiatus, focusing on work, and unfortunately the other women in the office were not his type or had already been bedded and forgotten.

_Why not Granger? _he had thought in a moment of weakness, getting a peek at the light blue lace knickers under her skirt when she'd been perched on her desk. And there were other things contributing to the decision; his frustration, both sexually and with her incessant talking. The knowledge that he was actually good at going down on women, though he wasn't always in the mood to be a giver. And the sliver of empathy he felt for his almost-friend (they'd never actually used the word in relation to one another), causing him to think that maybe if Granger had it _good _for once she'd see that there were better and much more viable options out there.

Not him - he wasn't an option. But he had no problem opening the door for her and giving a wave.

Which, judging from the way her body had jerked and rolled under his tongue, was exactly what he'd done.

"What are you plotting?" Granger asked from across the office, eyes narrowed at his sudden smirk.

"Nothing," he replied innocently. "Just thinking I might get back on the horse, so to speak. It is Friday after all."

Was that a flash of disappointment that he saw in Granger's eyes? He knew she disapproved of his old habit of prowling the bars on Friday nights when he didn't feel like being alone, but maybe he could change her mind.

"Come out with me," he suggested, consciously deciding to look at his paperwork instead of his coworker. Granger had been a bit too unsure of herself lately for his liking, and as much as she loved to barrel through life with that Gryffindor bravery, it wasn't always around when needed.

She was silent for long enough that he chanced a glance up, and found her chewing her bottom lip. A bad habit.

Then that old Granger look of determination crossed her face, and she nodded. "Okay."

* * *

Hermione was panicking.

Well, not exactly - she reprimanded herself for that thought, remember what _real _panic had been like during and just after the war. Harry waking up at night covered in sweat and hyperventilating in the few months they'd all lived together at Grimmauld place. Ron having to wean himself off of drinking for a bit because he always saw shadows where they weren't any.

She shook her head to rid herself of all thoughts of her ex and instead went back to the Potters - Ginny. She needed Ginny.

Luckily Ginny, being the youngest of the Weasleys and married to Harry, had embraced quite a few muggle habits. Including the advent of the cellphone. Hermione tapped out a text and waited, staring at herself in front of the full length mirror that hung on the back of her bedroom door. She was still in her work clothes - an older jumper that she was realizing now looked disturbingly like one of her father's, and grey trousers. Tasteful, small wedged heels.

Lord. What had she agreed to.

She heard the floo in her living room flare and Ginny called out.

"I'm in here," she shouted back, blinking when the door opened and broke the gaze she'd been holding with herself.

"I'm going out tonight," she blurted quickly, before she could change her mind. Ginny's eyebrows rose, and Hermione's heart sank. "You think it's a bad idea."

She turned and trudged to the bed, flopping back onto it.

"No, actually," Ginny insisted, her voice high with surprise. "I think it's a brilliant idea. I just thought...well, to be honest, I thought you'd be down in the dumps a bit longer. You do tend to over-analyze things."

"Draco invited me out," Hermione said into a pillow, her voice muffled.

"What!?" Ginny exclaimed, and the bed shifted as her friend sat on it.

"He's, you know, back to his regular Friday night prowl at the hunting grounds." Ginny rolled her eyes. "And he invited me out with him. I think he thinks...it'll help.." she groaned, letting her body flop back into the bed. "Which means he pities me! I'm being pitied by Malfoy, of all people."

Ginny laughed and touched her arm, trying to get Hermione to turn over.

"Come on, that's not so bad. He's trying to help. If anything, I'd say that reveals more about how far he's come than the reparations he did on the castle."

Hermione looked at Ginny. "Really? You don't think he's just going to...use me as some sort of sob story to attract other women? I can see it now - 'Malfoy heir piecing the Golden Girl's heart back together.' They'll come flocking."

Hermione didn't say anything about the sinking feeling this created in her stomach; the thought of women draping themselves all over her coworker as she drank heavily at a bar.

Ginny laughed again, falling back onto the bed. "I mean, I can't guarantee he's not getting anything out of it. But if you ask me, it seems an honest enough offer. You know how hard it is for Harry to get him to come out."

"That's true," Hermione admitted, toeing off her shoes. Although she wouldn't say Malfoy was friends with the group, exactly, they were all comfortable with him joining in for nights out on the town, which usually happened after work. And seeing as how both Hermione and Harry worked at the Ministry, and Harry dropped in occasionally to invite her out, it was only fair to invite him as well. But he often twisted his face in distaste and declined.

"So," Ginny began, pushing herself up and walking over to Hermione's closet. "I'm guessing that you didn't call me here just to whinge. You must need help picking something out?"

Hermione propped herself up on her elbows and nodded. Ginny stared pointedly at her jumper.

"I know," she moaned, getting up to join her friend. "I've never had to...dress to appeal to anyone. You know. Ron was always fine with jumpers and t-shirts."

Ginny screwed up her face at the mention of her brother's preferences. "Well we can't have you going out like that. Let's see."

The two of them dug through the closet for a while, chatting back and forth about options. Eventually Ginny had Hermione try a few things on and scrutinized her, twisting her long red hair around a finger.

"Alright," she said decisively, stepping forward to take a few garments Hermione was holding. "Lose the tights."

"But-" Hermione started to protest, and Ginny cut them off.

"They're work appropriate, but no one wears them out. Especially not out to bars. Lose them."

Hermione acquiesced, even managing not to grumble as she slipped them down her legs and tossed them to the side. She stood in her knickers and the ugly sweater.

"Put this on," Ginny continued, holding out one of Hermione's newer pencil skirts. She frowned, but pulled it up over her hips, zipping it in the back. Ginny slipped her wand out of the stylish holster she kept and gave it a flick. The skirt shortened just slightly to mid-calf length and a slit ran up the front, hemming itself as it went.

"Oh -" Hermione started, but Ginny waved her off.

"And this," she said, tossing Hermione a shirt.

She struggled to get the jumper off and then slid the shirt over her head, realizing that it was one she rather liked. A slightly cropped number that she'd bought a few years ago for New Years, sparkling quietly with dark sequins. Ginny flicked her wand again and the color changed to a deep, rich gold. Hermione's eyebrows rose.

"Really?" she asked, not looking forward to a night of 'golden girl' pick up lines, but Ginny took her by the shoulders and led her over to the full-length mirror.

Hermione stared at herself. It actually wasn't a bad outfit at all. Not sleazy, as she'd feared with the front-slit. Actually, the slit ended just slightly above her knees, and kept her modest enough. The length was classy, and because the skirt was naturally high-waisted, it worked well with the cropped top.

She leaned forward, realizing why Ginny had turned it gold. It brought out a certain caramel freckling in her eyes that she hadn't really noticed before.

Ginny appeared at her side holding the heels she'd ill-advisedly worn to work that day that Draco had -

She stopped the thought before a blush started. Ginny was quick to catch things like that, and she didn't feel like owning up to the fact that her first sexual experience since the end of her long-term relationship had been a coworker eating her out on her own desk.

"Thank you," she said, meeting Ginny's eyes in the mirror.

The redhead smiled and nodded, then looked at Hermione's reflection with appreciation. "My brother's a git," she said bluntly.

* * *

Draco had scrawled down the address of a wizarding pub on the outskirts of muggle London, knowing that Hermione hadn't been there before, but would be smart enough to figure out how to find the entrance.

He sat at the bar a few minutes earlier than their agreed-upon time of 9pm and ordered a scotch on the rocks. It wasn't his drink of choice, but he wasn't looking for taste; just fast-effects.

Draco realized that he'd drastically underestimated just how much he'd need to drink as soon as he saw Granger slip in through the door.

She'd shed her work clothes and was wearing a skirt he'd never seen before, slit tastefully up the front, revealing flashes of thigh as she spotted him and made her way to the bar. He swallowed hard.

The shirt she wore was catching the light in a way that was already turning a few wizard's heads. His eyes swept the room, and he didn't realizing that he was giving any onlookers a glare.

"Hello," the witch said primly when she reached him, hopping up onto a stool. He nodded and ordered her a vodka cranberry, checking to make sure she was okay with the choice. "Starting out a little hard," she muttered, but accepted the glass, thanking the bartender with impeccable manners.

"You clean up well," Draco commented, his own manners surfacing. Hermione smiled a small smile and looked away, surveying the pub.

"Thanks. Ginny helped. I'm completely hopeless when it comes to these kinds of things..." her brow furrowed as she noticed the wizards who were looking at her out of the corners of their eyes.

"You know," he began, leaning toward her, "tonight isn't about you going home with anyone. Just getting back on the horse."

She turned and met his gaze. "Like it is for you," she said, and he hesitated before nodding. Her eyes flickered away.

"I don't know," she murmured. "Maybe it would be best if I just...let one of them sweep me off my feet. After a few drinks."

Granger took a long draw of the drink and almost finished it off as Draco fought back a sudden rise of anger. She couldn't leave with anyone tonight - it wouldn't be...productive.

No, it would probably just push her right back into her hole of self-pity once she realized that sleeping around wasn't the answer to happiness. Draco himself had figured this out quite some time ago, but he had continued anyway.

Whenever he got together with Blaise and Theo, the only two classmates he still saw regularly, the former liked to drunkenly point out that it was because Draco was afraid of commitment.

"Or afraid that no one will like him," Theo would chime in, which ground Draco's gears more than he liked to admit. Slytherins were too observant for their own good.

Granger's gaze was lingering on a dark-haired wizard who stood by the floo chatting with a few friends. One of the group was a short young woman who laughed too loud and leaned into him too often. Ah, yes. Unrequited love. Draco basked in the misfortune of others until the wizard's eyes met Hermione's and he smiled at her. To his absolute horror, Granger smiled back.

"Really?" he scoffed, grabbing Granger's empty glass and signaling the waiter for another. "_That's _who you're going to let plunder the golden girl's depths tonight?"

Hermione turned to glare at him and he was happy that her attention had been drawn away from the suitor.

"He looks like an accountant," Draco continued, making a face of distaste.

"Or a curse breaker," Granger mused, tilting her head in interest. The wizard was, in fact, wearing a jacket with Gringott's seal high on the sleeve. It wasn't often that underlings of the company were graced with such gifts of esteem.

"Shite," Draco muttered to himself, glancing at Granger's crossed legs and noticing that the slit showed them off wonderfully. His gaze trailed down her legs and he saw that she was wearing the heels. _The _heels.

He signaled the bartender for his third drink in only twenty short minutes. He was going to need it tonight.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author Note: **Thanks again to everyone who stops by and is coming along for the ride. If you can take a moment to leave a review, I'll love you forever :) And probably get started on another one-shot I've been contemplating lately...

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**Chapter 5**

Draco had spent most of Saturday morning hung over.

Well, Saturday afternoon, actually, as he'd woken up just after eleven. And then remained in bed for another hour pitying himself.

What had he been thinking, inviting Granger out? He'd kept her attention for most of the night, yes, getting her to laugh and match him drink for drink, but he'd had to work for it. Especially when that Gringotts git had begun to circle. Luckily the man was enough of a coward to be put off by Draco strategically palming Granger's thigh.

He turned his head into the pillow and squeezed his eyes shut, flashes of the night coming back to him; the way she had smelled. Her hair ticking his jaw when he leaned in to be heard over the sound of the other patrons and a band that had started up later on in the night. The goosebumps that erupted on her thigh when he'd touched her there, and how he'd had to fight not to meet her eyes, for fear that he'd let his fingers slip beneath that delicious slit...

And with those memories came others.

Drunkenly flagging down the Night Bus after Granger downed a sobering potion she'd thought to bring along and been steady enough to floo home. Peeling his clothes off at home, how his skin had felt so hot and itchy, starting a shower well after one a.m. and having to literally _take himself in hand, _all to the thought of Hermione's moans, the silk feel of her inner thighs, how slick she'd been against his tongue.

Draco groaned loudly, the sound hurting his head as soon as it left his mouth, and felt himself growing hard again.

The whole point of last night was for the two of them to go out and work off some stress by meeting strangers in bars.

Instead, here he was, alone in his bed, slowly giving in to dirty thoughts of Granger and what he'd do to her if she was here.

* * *

Sunday evening the Ministry was eerily dead aside from the skeleton crew of Aurors who kept to their wing and the cleaning crews. Draco stepped out of the elevator on the second floor of the underground level and continued to read the monthly report on his family's investments, which he kept active and quiet.

He was so distracted that he didn't notice Potter making a beeline for the elevators. The two almost bumped into one another and Harry held his hands up, eyebrows lost under those ridiculous bangs.

"You alright there, Malfoy? A bit distracted yeah?"

Draco curled the reports over in one fist and nodded tightly. If Potter was down here, it could only be to visit Hermione. The Aurors never came to the labs unless they needed testing done, and Sunday evenings were quiet.

"She's here already?" Draco asked, glancing over Potter's shoulder.

"She is."

The two stood perfectly still in silence for a few moments before Draco cleared his throat.

Potter didn't move.

Instead, he gave Draco that look that he used on criminals and liars. It was not at all appreciated.

"My wife had an interesting story for me when she came home Friday night," he began, and Draco felt his already pale visage go even paler.

"Oh?" he asked, trying and failing to sound nonchalant.

"It seems that Hermione needed some help getting dolled up to go out. With you."

The two men stared at one another, waging a silent battle. Unfortunately neither was used to giving up, and if it hadn't been for Hermione hurrying down the hall toward them, they probably would have been there all night.

"Oh!" she exclaimed breathlessly, stopping short beside her childhood friend. "I'm happy I caught you. I forgot to tell you, I'll have that congestion salve ready for James tomorrow morning if you want to swing by the office and grab it. Ginny and I made a deal - she's trading me that General Tsos chicken she makes, so don't forget it, because I'm not going to bring a lunch. Hello Draco."

She smiled when she greeted him, and Draco felt some of the warmth come back to his cheeks. Maybe too much warmth. Potter was watching him intently.

"Granger," he bit out, more aggressively than he'd meant to. Both Harry and Hermione glanced down to his right leg, where he was tapping the rolled up reports without realizing. He stopped.

Hermione slowly looked back to Harry. "Well then...I'll...see you down at the lab, I suppose?" she asked, directing the question to Draco. He nodded, avoiding Potter's gaze.

Hermione took a step back, clearly baffled. "Alright then...Harry...goodnight."

She turned and walked back down the hall, disappearing into their lab.

Draco glanced at Potter.

"What?" he demanded, but the other man didn't seem intimidated at all. Damn him.

"I'm not entirely sure what you're up to, Malfoy, but be careful. She's been through more than enough as it is." Draco was confused, indignant and hurt, as well as at a loss for words, but Potter continued on. "Not that I disapprove. Just...be careful."

With that, he stepped around the tall blonde and into the elevator, jamming a button and getting jerked away and up into the shaft.

Draco stayed where he was for a moment, taking in Potter's words.

Be careful? With Granger? Obviously Potter didn't know her as well as he thought he did.

Huffing and muttering to himself, he stalked down the hall, determined to...do something. He just wasn't sure what, exactly.

* * *

The tension that Hermione had felt between her old classmates and current coworkers hadn't dissipated once Draco arrived at the lab. If anything, it was worse.

He stomped in and began shuffling around the shared space, moving cauldrons out of the way a bit too aggressively, clanging together utensils and even spilling a pile of dried lavender.

When he was done cursing and sweeping the mess back into his palm, he stood and ran a hand through his hair. It fell in disarray over his eyes and Hermione stared.

Whenever she found herself drifting away for a moment, her mind went back to Friday night. Sitting at the bar with him as he cracked jokes about the people who surrounded them, ignoring her protests and creating wilder and wilder accusations until she couldn't help but laugh.

They had been out together before, but never alone, never just the two of them. Hermione found herself interested in this Draco - a bit more at ease and comfortable joking, although there was still a certain dry bite to him that she found she rather liked. They'd both had too much to drink, but she'd planned for that.

_What if she hadn't?_

Alone in the lab before he'd arrived, she'd felt herself blushing and almost slipped cutting a banana slug.

They'd had to lean in so close to hear one another. He smelled like pine. She hadn't expected that.

Even now, by herself, the memory of the scent woke all of her senses; she found herself inhaling deeper.

So it wasn't too surprising that when he _did _finally get to the lab, even after whatever awkwardness had been going on out in the hall between him and Harry, she took a few deep breaths before catching herself. And then berating herself.

_Really, _she thought, carefully arranging the ingredients she'd prepared as he lit two cauldrons on another table, _it was just a one-off. Malfoy always has to be right about everything. And he most definitely went out of his way to prove how unskilled Ron is..._

"Alright there, Granger?"

Her head snapped up and she stared at him, wide-eyed. His hair was still mussed and his sleeves were rolled up now. She glanced at his forearms.

Draco rolled the left sleeve down self-consciously, and she knew what he'd been thinking - that she was looking at the scar where the mark used to be.

She opened her mouth to tell him that the mark had stopped mattering to her a long time ago, but he ducked his head and clearly wanted to be left alone.

"Are _you _alright?" she asked instead, watching as he paused in his work.

His brow was furrowed and she could practically see his thoughts churning. It wasn't often Malfoy lost his cool demeanor; this, on top of whatever had happened earlier, only made her more nervous and alert.

"I'm fine," he said quietly, lifting his wand minutely.

The lights in the lab went out. But the far wall was lined with large windows meant to reflect the conditions of the outside, and moonlight spilled in across the tables. They would need the light of the full moon to finish the potion tonight. Draco's pale skin was beautiful, his shirt crisp in the dark as his arms moved.

He glanced up at her and stopped.

"What?" he asked. They stared at one another, and she saw his throat bob above the pristine collar. He reached up to undo the top button and she felt her lips part involuntarily.

"Granger."

There was just the slightest hint of a growl in the way he said her name. It sent a shiver up her spine, and she felt her nipples tighten against the lace of her bra. Desire and embarrassment fought for dominance.

Reminiscent of that day in their office, Draco stalked around the table, clearly heading for her. But before he rounded the corner of her workspace he stopped himself. Fists clenched.

Hermione wished he hadn't.

And as soon as that thought hit her, she took the few short steps toward him and grabbed his left wrist.

The skin beneath her fingers was warm and smooth, until she ran her thumb up to the edge of the scar. There it was thick and uneven. She looked up at him through the mess of hair that had fallen in her face and saw his throat working again. Chin tilted up. Leaving the expanse of his pale skin exposed to her.

"I don't care about this," she said, speaking quietly but firmly in the empty room. Draco looked down his nose at her, and his normally light eyes were dark and serious.

She smelled pine and lifted her face, breathing him in. As soon as Draco caught on to what she was doing his other hand came up quickly, pushing the hair back off of her left cheek and holding it tightly at the base of her neck. Hermione wanted him to tug. She wanted to lean closer until her chest brushed against his.

Instead he was the one to close the gap between them and she was left wondering for just a second when exactly that characteristic Gryffindor bravery had left her. Twice now - _because she knew where this was going - _he had been the one to initiate contact between them. And she liked it, but it felt unbalanced.

He moved his hand from her hair to her hip but gripped her just as tightly, pressing her up against the work table. She still held his wrist tightly. Their bodies met inch for inch and he twisted his hand in hers, hinting that she should let go.

She did, and braced herself against his chest instead as his fingers brushed up the side of her jeans. Why had she worn them? Why hadn't she chosen a fitted pair of trousers instead of these old rags, so loose and unflattering on her?

But Malfoy didn't seem to mind as he found the button on the front and deftly slipped it open. He continued the ghostly touch just inside the hem of her shirt, making her arch into him.

"I want to," she said, determined this time not to make him ask.

Draco pulled her closer as he buried his face in her neck and bit just at the junction. She was fumbling at his trousers, cursing the seamless, high-end belt he was wearing.

He chuckled darkly into her clavicle as she gave up and began to yank his shirt up instead. His stomach was hard and cooler than his wrist had been, and she slowed in touching him, drunk on the feel of his body.

Draco wasn't slowing, though, and he dropped gracefully to his knees, taking her jeans with him as he went, gripping the back of her thighs to help her step out of them. He growled as he ran his mouth over her sex before standing again and undoing his own trousers.

They moved surprisingly well, although it _shouldn't _have been a surprise.

After all, they made potions together well, often working in silence and reading each other's movements and needs. As they did now. Hermione perched herself on the edge of the table as Mafloy stepped forward between her legs and hooked a finger into her knickers, pulling them aside. She made a noise that, if she hadn't been so lost in everything, would have embarrassed her, but Draco obviously liked it; his movements quickened as he rubbed her clit and bit her neck again, making her shiver.

"I want it," she said urgently, hearing the desperate edge to her voice but not caring. Hermione was pressing herself into the hand that he had cupped over her. She reached up to grip his shoulder and ground herself down onto him, moaning as two fingers slipped into her passage.

"Yes," she hissed, eyes shut and head tilted back.

When she felt him draw back, she opened her eyes and straightened up a bit. He was too concentrated on her and once glance down at his pants made it obvious that more blood was going to his brain than where she wanted it.

Hermione reached between them and gripped his erection, pumping a few times and feeling it stiffen quickly. Draco grunted and bucked into her hand, his own pace stuttering as he lost concentration. She tightened her legs around him and tugged impatiently at his hip, but he lifted his head and met her gaze.

"I want you to cum for me," he said, trying to pull back, but Hermione kept her grip.

"I will," she promised.

Since when did she have more faith in Malfoy than he had in himself? Where was all of that arrogance? After all, he'd proven in their office that he didn't have a problem finishing the job...

That brief memory, combined with the feel of him pressing in tighter against her, made her entire body flush. A whine escaped her and she arched up to bite and lick at his earlobe until he moaned and collapsed forward enough for her to position them both comfortably.

It was easy after that; with his forehead buried back in her neck, he pulled her knickers aside, and she guided him in in one stroke.

Hermione grimaced a bit. Perhaps he'd been right, and she wasn't as ready as she should have been, but the friction felt good. Different than when Ron had taken her too early.

Draco's long arms pulled her bum in tight until he was buried completely inside her, and then he set a hard and fast pace, bracing her body on the table as he pounded into her. The way he angled himself over her hips made his wiry pubic hair rub against her clit and she moaned long and loud for him. Her muscles contracted and relaxed in fits, her legs scrambling for purchase on his thighs, then relaxing as a shiver wracked her spine.

Draco's shoulders lifted and tensed and she knew he was getting close. The moonlight across his back drew her eyes to the dips and highlights of his muscles. Just as she was beginning to settle in to the idea that she wouldn't finish tonight - it was just too fast, and she was fine with that - Draco leaned back, pulled her shirt up and off effortlessly, and then tore the straps of her bra down her arms until her breasts were exposed.

Her nipples tightened immediately in the cooler air. A hand on her sternum pushed her back and then both of his hands were on her breasts, squeezing them and pulling at her nipples. The position made it impossible to brace her legs, and they were splayed wide at the edge of the table, allowing his body to pound into her relentlessly as he assaulted her chest.

Hermione was so overcome by the slew of sensations that the orgasm came on her quickly and unexpectedly, tearing a moan from her throat and making her back arch.

Draco's hands smoothed down her breasts and settled at her hips. He slowed just slightly, changing his pace from erratic to steady, lingering just slightly every time he pulled almost completely out of her.

As she came back slowly from the burning sensation that was dissipating down to her toes, she realized he was muttering "fuck, fuck, fuck," over and over, his blonde hair disheveled, shoulders bunched. She whined quietly, but loud enough for him to hear, and raised her hips just slightly. Every time he pulled back she could feel the head of his cock bumping deliciously against a spot that made her whole body tingle.

She bit her lip and tightened her legs as she felt him start to shudder, trapping him against her. The moan he let out was so raw and vulnerable that Hermione's eyes widened and she lifted her head to watch as he slowed and braced himself over her, panting.

When he looked up, she was still staring. It was a mistake.

Draco stepped back and pulled his pants and trousers up in one movement, turning himself away. Hermione knew she should be worried, should be trying to make him turn and speak, but she could only stare at his pale back until he moved away and grabbed his shirt, going back to his table.

He straightened out their utensils as she dressed carefully, eyes on the floor. When she was still again he stilled, too, but didn't meet her gaze.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey all! Thank you for hanging around - I'm in the process of selling my house and moving, so the past few weeks have been a bit ungodly. Keep your fingers crossed for me. Longer chapters to come soon. And leave a review if you don't mind - or a comment! Thanks :)**

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**Chapter 6**

Draco had fucked up. And he knew it.

He knew it because Monday morning another memo flitted into the room telling him that Granger wouldn't be in - although he already had an inkling. Because he'd been late, and the office door was closed instead of just closed over, meaning that she wasn't there.

He'd woken up early after a night of laying on his back perfectly still in utter terror. And then he'd spent a few hours pacing before work, until he couldn't put it off any longer, and had to come in.

But Granger wasn't here.

Did it surprise him? On some level, no. But on another - it shocked him. Because if Granger felt the need to take the day off after an ill-advised but rapturous shag, it meant that she viewed him as similar to Weasley.

Weasley was an idiot and didn't deserve her. He'd fucked up, without a doubt, utterly unaware of her brains, her wit, her sarcasm, all overshadowing her swotty, tempting looks. She was a frustrating and challenging package. But then Draco had known that for years. He'd just never gotten close enough to let himself desire her this way.

As he sat at his desk, hands lax in his lap, the realization was beginning to form in the very back of his mind: he desired more than just her body.

Had he always?

Draco was staring across the small room at her empty desk, with everything perfectly arranged and in order.

He'd left the door open, and the sound of footsteps made him look up. Potter walked by looking down at papers, glasses slipping off of the end of his nose.

Then he back-tracked a few steps and leaned to peer into the room. Pushed his glasses up, caught sight of Hermione's empty desk, and shot a glance at Draco.

For a moment Draco thought that Potter was going to follow through on his threat and rip into him. But instead the golden boy must've seen something that made him...pity his former classmate.

Potter's brow un-furrowed and he sighed, shaking his head, as if he'd known this would happen all along.

* * *

It was already one p.m. and Hermione was still trudging around her flat in her bathrobe, empty cup of tea swinging from one hand.

This wasn't entirely unusual. Hermione loved her robe, and even threw it on immediately after work some days without changing out of her trousers and heels. But today was Monday. And she was home, at one p.m., still in the robe. And her pajamas.

Her mind was only just beginning to clear. She'd managed to sleep in late by burrowing under the pillows and convincing herself that the black void of exhaustion was better than facing last night's events.

And she'd wandered around listlessly all day, drinking so much tea that she'd peed six times, and fed Crooks twice by accident.

Two things snapped her back to reality: the first being that Ginny owled her just after lunch asking if she was okay. Which meant that Harry had noticed she wasn't at work. Which meant that he'd probably seen Draco. And possibly killed him, because the very last, smallest line of Ginny's note said:_ Is there any chance this has something to do with Malfoy? Not that I'm fishing for gossip...but a girl can hope, can't she?_

The Potters were, unfortunately, a force. Between Harry's instinct and Ginny's stubborness, Hermione wouldn't at all be surprised if they'd put it together yet.

The second thing that sent Hermione reeling back into the early afternoon was the unexpected thought that at least wandering around the flat avoiding every possible memory of Malfoy...meant that she hadn't wasted a moment of time thinking about Ron.

Standing in the hallway between the kitchen and the living room, Hermione barked out a laugh and couldn't help smiling after.

"Well then..." she muttered to herself, and let her mind drift back to the night before on it's own.

She was at the kitchen counter heating up another batch of water, just running through the strange interaction she'd come upon in the Ministry hallway between Draco and Harry, when a knock at the door made her pause. Hopefully it wasn't Ginny on the hunt for some answers.

* * *

It was worse.

That was Draco's first thought upon seeing her - worse than he expected.

Because she was wearing some ratty old mess of a robe and her feet, sticking out from beneath the hem, were shod in oversized white socks. She actually shuffled back upon realizing that it was him who was standing in the doorway.

"Can I come in?" he asked abruptly, forcing himself to get over his shock.

Luckily Granger was still shocked though, because if she'd been in her right mind, he doubted she would have ever let him in. But she took a few full steps back, staring up at him blankly, and he slipped past her into the flat.

Draco took a moment to look over his surroundings, impressed that the place wasn't filled wall to ceiling with books. Actually, it was quite tastefully kept, with steel grey furniture and pristine white walls. He glanced back at Granger, who had shut the door but was still holding the handle.

Sighing, Draco walked himself into the kitchen area where he could smell a cup of chamomile tea steeping. It was one of his favorite. Granger must be trying to calm herself down - or knock herself out. As he got closer to the cup and kettle he caught the scent of lavender as well.

"I just wanted to check in on you," he said, keeping his eyes on the counter as he conjured a cup and filled it, rifling through a few drawers before finding the tea.

Just out of the corner of his eye he saw the hem of that ridiculous robe sway as it went by, and he knew that Hermione was somewhere behind him.

"That's nice of you," came her soft reply, "but I'm fine, Draco."

He hadn't expected her to use his first name. He turned to face her, and found her leaning against the opposite counter, arms crossed.

A stray curl dropped across her forehead and as she reached to move it her robe fell open, revealing a worn white shirt. She very obviously wasn't wearing a bra beneath, and Draco felt his face flush, remembering the feel of her nipples under his thumbs the other night - the way she had arched herself into his hands.

"Really," Hermione continued, apparently oblivious to the fact that she was a goddess in those ratty clothes, "you didn't have to stop by. We aren't children anymore Draco. Last night was -"

He glanced up from his cup of tea, immensely curious to hear what she was going to say.

_Delicious,_ he thought. _Forbidden. Satisfying. Not nearly enough._

"It was just a moment of tension between two people who have been stressed out and lonely. We've talked about this quite a few times, actually, so I shouldn't be so surprised that it turned out this way. I've been upset about Ron, and you've been taking a break from your usual..."

Her gaze drifted away from his as the sentence tapered off, and Draco realized that she was uncomfortable with his _usual_.

"Hermione," he began, putting the cup down and frowning at her, "you don't think you were a - a filler of some sort, do you?"

Damn. By the look on her face, that was the conclusion she'd come to. She had the grace to look a bit ashamed and looked anywhere but at him.

Draco turned and ran a hand through his hair, pacing a short distance. "I would never - we're coworkers, for Merlin's sake, you aren't just some girl I met at the bar. I wouldn't use you like that. You're right, there's been tension for a while now, and last night was - was just the combination of circumstances -"

_I don't care about this._

He heard her words from the night before in his head and involuntarily gripped his left forearm with his right hand. Beneath the thin fabric of his shirt he could feel the ripple of the scar.

Warmth bloomed through him at the memory.

But it died quickly. Her fingertips on the scar. He should have pulled away then, kept her unsullied. It didn't matter that all of the dark magic was gone from the skin there. It would always be a tainted part of him.

He glanced back to the kitchen and found Hermione staring at him, brows furrowed and lips pursed. More of that ridiculous hair had come out of her poorly executed bun. His mother would die if she saw hair treated so atrociously. Draco fought the temptation to take two steps toward her and push it back, out of her face, as he had last night when she'd been gazing up at him.

_I want it._

It was quiet. The cups of tea on the counter were steaming, and Granger's beast of a cat padded into the room, making his way straight for Draco and winding its thick body around his ankles.

Hermione seemed to be waiting, and when Draco didn't do anything to remove the cat from his trousers, her eyes snapped up to his face in surprise and - pleasure.

It twisted Draco's stomach. He looked away quickly.

"Anyway. You were right. We aren't children anymore, and neither of us has time for dalliances. It was just an outlet. There's work to do, and I'm sure that we're mature enough to overlook what happened."

The moan that had erupted from her as her body shuddered under him. The feel of her tightening, hair splayed out across the work table, her thighs wrapped around his hips.

Hermione nodded and looked away.

"Of course. I'll be back in tomorrow -"

"If you need time, Hermione, take it."

She opened her mouth but didn't speak right away. Her eyes were searching his face and Draco had never felt so exposed before. He had to fight the urge to turn around again. The damn cat was standing on its back legs now, batting at the zipper on Draco's coat.

"I'll be back tomorrow," she repeated, sounding more sure of herself. "I just thought, since we worked Sunday, I would try to sneak in a day off. I'm surprised you went in. I thought you'd be doing the same."

Draco stared blankly at her.

Of course.

She'd taken the day off because she'd worked the weekend.

He felt lighter now as he excused himself and moved toward the door, making a snarky comment about the cat that he couldn't quite remember. Hermione rolled her eyes and followed him, re-wrapping the robe around herself.

So that was it, then, Draco thought as he turned to face her. He'd made a fool of himself by checking in on her.

But as he strolled back down the hall and took the steps two at a time, he didn't feel like a fool - just satisfied that he had gotten to see her so relaxed, so natural with the afternoon sunlight warming her hair and sleep still lingering in her eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank you guys for hanging on - I had a few discouraging comments about this story and wasn't sure whether or not I should continue it. And then of course I'm right in the middle of selling my house and buying another - it's been a busy time but I promise to keep updating whenever possible! Thank you again for waiting. And if you have a moment or two to leave a review - it's appreciated, as always :)**

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**Chapter 7**

It had been an invigoratingly pleasing week, preceded by Draco's unexpected visit, which should have settled Hermione. On top of that, when she showed up Tuesday, the tabloid featured a cover photo of Ronald covered in ice cream, getting yelled at by a witch in public. Draco had gone on and on about, even to Harry when he stopped in, who only grinned, but didn't join in the conversation. Even after all of this mess the man was loyal to a fault.

"What's wrong, Granger?" the blonde drawled, kicking his feet up on the desk. It was Thursday morning. They'd finished all of their paperwork, and the previous weekend's potion had turned out splendidly - they were just waiting on the patents now.

Hermione glanced at the clock. Just forty-five minutes shy of lunch. What on earth would she do with the rest of her day?

Draco caught her gaze and sat up again. She glanced at him and tried not to glare. It was so hard not to be annoyed with how perky he was!

But then, shouldn't she be, as well? Everything was going splendidly - her ex was finally revealing his true self - a total arse - to the world. She and Draco had cleared up their misunderstandings. Everything at work was ahead of schedule, which was always ideal. What more could she ask for?

Judging by the look on her coworker's face, she'd been scowling. Hermione fixed her expression and raised her eyebrows apologetically. "I'm sorry. I don't know what's gotten into me."

Eyes narrowed, Draco made a vague gesture with his slim fingers in the general direction of her lower body. "It isn't...you know..." He continued to twirl his fingers around and grimace.

Hermione rolled her eyes and stood, straightening things aimlessly. "Oh, really," she huffed. "Almost six years out of Hogwarts and still a grown men can't talk about menstruation. I have half a mind to write to Minerva and suggest classes on -"

"No need for that," Draco interrupted, most likely imagining class upon class of students cringing and avoiding eye contact with one another. "But, you know, let me know when that does...come around...for a..visit..."

They stared at one another for a few moments until the significance of his statement set in.

"Oh," she breathed, leaning against the desk. "_Oh." _She felt a blush begin far in on her cheeks as her body involuntarily recalled the things that had been done - "No," she said a bit too sharply, making Draco sit up. "No, that's all...fine. I take a Muggle contraceptive. I find it a bit more reliable than the magical way of doing things, you know."

Draco looked like he wanted to ask a question, with his mouth hanging open and brow furrowed, but he thought better of it and snapped it shut.

"Alright then. Well, since it's almost lunch anyway, and we've run out of things to do, what do you say to grabbing a butterbeer and something to eat? My treat." He must have sensed her hesitation, because he added, "Maybe some ice cream?" with an uncharacteristically childish wiggle of his brows, and Hermione couldn't help grinning.

"Alright," she conceded, reaching back for her purse, "but only if we go dutch. Even when Ron and I - well - usually I'm the one who paid," she trailed off, blushing out of a different kind of embarrassment.

"Why am I not surprised?" Draco muttered, rolling his eyes. He stood and moved toward her filing cabinet, catching her off guard, so that she stumbled backward. Hermione had made the conscious decision to wear flats this week - give her legs a break - but she still seemed incredibly off balance. Especially with Draco so...close...

He pulled open the top drawer and began riffling through it, giving her a direct view of his broad back, tapered waist, and bare forearms. Hermione swallowed. Why did the man have to look so good in a regular white dress shirt?

_It's because he's a Malfoy, of course, _she thought bitterly, just as he turned around - and she felt unbalanced again at the sight of his exposed throat. He'd undone a few buttons at some point and the jagged, silver end of a scar peeked out just at the edge of the collar. Hermione licked her lips, then saw his raised eyebrow and shook her head, stepping to the side and yanking the door open.

"Well come on then," she said loudly, marching out and wincing at how forced her cheeriness sounded. It only added to her irritation.

* * *

Draco was having problems with lunch.

Namely, with watching Hermione eat dessert - which was some kind of brownie and ice cream concoction. He'd been joking about the ice cream earlier, but Hermione had seen it on the menu, whatever _it _was, and was now halfway through the gooey mess. She was practically _moaning _around the spoon in her mouth. If his mother had happened to wander in at that moment, she would have been scandalized.

Thinking of his mother seeing him out with Hermione Granger only made him more uneasy. They didn't see each other often anymore, as she'd taken up residence in France as his father served out the last two years of his sentence, but they did correspond regularly. Actually, he had to write to her when he got home.

But for now he was distracted by Granger and the ridiculous sight of melted ice cream dribbling from her mouth to her chin, where she wiped it carelessly with the back of her hand.

"Can you -" he began, mortified upon realizing how choked up his voice sounded. He glanced around quickly to make sure there was no one nearby. "Make _less _of an arse of yourself, Granger? Or at least try?"

Her eyes widened at the last bit there; maybe he'd growled a little. Not on purpose. But Merlin, she was driving him mad.

Draco used the pause in her gluttony to reach out and swipe the cream off of her chin, sitting back heavily before realizing that she'd taken his napkin earlier. She smiled apologetically at him, spoon still raised in the air.

_Ugh, _he thought. _There's nothing for it then. _Quickly, so as to save himself the embarrassment of dining like an utter buffoon, he stuck his thumb in his mouth and sucked off the vanilla cream.

It was actually delicious. He could understand now the sounds that had come out of her mouth, and why. Unfortunately, he found a small corner of his brain trying to reach back to Sunday, and compare the moans -

_No, _he thought sharply, clamping down on the memory before it could bloom into anything else.

The last thing he needed was a hard-on in the middle of the day, in the middle of a restaurant, after having just reassured Granger that things could go completely back to normal between them now that they'd gotten the sexual tension and frustration out of their system. Just two coworkers using each other. Nothing to see here.

Except there was something to see, apparently. His eyes widened.

Draco had been relieved to find that Granger chose to forego heels for an as yet unforseen period of time. "My ankles," she'd mumbled at some point, tidying things up around their office. The flats she wore were somewhat unflattering and made it easier to avoid looking at her calves, her thighs, her arse -

He had to reign himself in again.

But now he faced an entirely different problem.

The shirt Hermione wore was appropriate for the office. It was silk, trimmed to skim the shape of her body, and came up high on her neck. But there was a delicate little cutout on her chest. Perhaps only three or four fingers in length. But it was low enough, and long enough, for now...to be distracting as a stray drop of ice cream melted on her skin. And ran down toward the hem of that little cutout, to disappear somewhere -

"Oy."

Draco pulled back, realizing suddenly that he'd been leaning in and even reaching out to retrieve that drop of cream.

_Really, _he berated himself once more, _as if swiping dessert off of her mouth wasn't enough - _

To both of their horror - for completely different reasons - Ronald Weasley stood before them, in a surprisingly well-cut dress shirt. Although someone needed to teach him how to tuck it properly. Draco felt his lip begin to curl.

"What are you doing here 'Mione?" Weasley asked, his voice harsh and brows knit. "With _him,_" he added, drawing Draco out of his brief thoughts - he'd never liked the nickname they had for her, even when Potter used it.

"Excuse you," Draco began, but Hermione seemed happy enough to speak for herself.

"Not that it's any of your business Ronald, but Draco and I are taking our lunch break together."

His gaze snapped to her quickly. She'd never said his first name quite like that. He rarely heard it used in public settings, only in boardrooms or their office, where they were usually arguing.

"Do you really think that's smart, 'Mione?" Ron asked loftily.

The spoon clattered to the table. Draco pulled back a bit. He could practically see the raw magic crackling in Granger's hair - not a good sign for Weasley.

"Smart," she began, in a deceptively quiet voice. Here and there a few patrons were glancing their way, murmuring to one another. One younger man even took out a cell phone - rarely seen so close to the Ministry - and snapped a picture. But Hermione was far gone enough that she didn't even notice the flash.

"If I wanted your opinion, Ronald, I would ask for it. Although judging by what you've been up to lately, I don't believe you know anything about proper company."

"Been slumming it, Weasel, have you?" Draco scoffed. He'd never be able to forgive himself if he didn't get a least a little dig in.

Ron turned on him, his face turning that characteristic, unattractive shade of red.

"Don't you dare talk to me Malfoy, you grimy Death Eater scum -"

Hermione's chair scraped loudly on the tile floor as she stood, eyes blazing, hair crackling. Draco was both scared and a bit more turned on than he had been earlier.

Lucky for Weasley, his name was called, and the three turned toward the doorway. Potter was sweeping toward them in his office robes. He looked surprisingly intimidating - more what everyone probably pictured when they talked about the Boy who Lived - and even Ron, who stood taller than him, shrank back a bit.

"I didn't invite you out to lunch to start a scene," Potter bit out once he'd reached them. He glanced warily at Hermione and Draco, the latter of whom tried to look innocent. "I thought after - _recent events - _you'd want to do a bit of recovery work on your reputation."

Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"Please tell me that's not why you're here, Harry."

But Potter was already shaking his head. He'd stepped between his two friends, making Ron step back and almost into another table. "No, of course not. I'm sorry 'Mione. I didn't realize you'd be out, you usually eat lunch in the office."

"Yes, well, we finished a bit early today."

"We can find somewhere else," Harry offered, already reaching to escort Ron away, but Granger stopped him.

"No, no, stay. We only just finished dessert."

Harry seemed to give her a look that said _you're sure? _ and Hermione nodded. Draco felt jealousy flare through him. But he followed Hermione's lead, shifting the chair for her so they could move toward the door.

They had almost stepped out into the early afternoon before he paused, turning back. "I forgot something," Draco said quickly, striding back toward their table. Harry was speaking heatedly to Ron, who had the good grace to appear a bit ashamed. The tips of his ears were still flaming red.

Draco leaned between the two, reaching for his handkerchief, which he'd left on the table.

"By the way, Weasley," he said nonchalantly as he stood, "I hear they have excellent ice cream here." And with a grin that he couldn't keep from turning into a smirk, he hurried back to Hermione, ushering her through the door and away from the scene that was breaking out behind them.

"What was that?" she asked as they headed back toward the Ministry.

"Just forgot this," he said, brandishing the kerchief before tucking it away into a pocket. "Lovely day, isn't it?"

He grinned at her, but was distracted momentarily. She'd paused to look over the stain that the ice cream had left on the front of her shirt.

"Oh, drat," she muttered, scrubbing at it. Did the witch not realize that she had a wand?

Draco had one, too, but his mind didn't seize upon that for a few moments longer. He was staring openly at her - at the way the sunlight filtered into her hair, turning it almost gold in some places. A beautiful play of colors against the creamy blue of her shirt.

Damn Granger. Even without flats she was incredibly too enticing. Although Draco wished, as he scourgified her shirt, that it was just desire he was feeling; he had an inkling that there was a bit more to it than that.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Somehow, neither of them had expected this. But there it was. Staring right at her from the new stand that had papers swirling and fluttering around it on their own, looking for potential customers.

Hermione groaned.

She couldn't well give Ronald shite about this now, could she? Not when she found herself in the same exact position. On the front page of the Daily Prophet was a four-second loop of her and Draco sitting at the table yesterday. Surprisingly, it isn't the way he swipes ice cream off of her chin and sticks his thumb in her mouth that bothers her. It's the way _she's _looking at him - eyes heavy-lidded and entirely too focused on him instead of their surroundings. And she'd very clearly been the one leaning into him. Or the plate of brownie sundae maybe...but either way, it appeared entirely inappropriate.

**Love after Tragedy? **the headline read. **Bookworm and the Beast.**

No one had called her a bookworm since Hogwarts. As it turned out, self-educating was only looked down upon in a wizard or witch's teenage years. She'd met many other coworkers and members of the community willing to discuss literature or the newest copies of technical manuals. Even Draco himself kept a well-stocked bookcase at home.

Not that she'd ever been to his home - she'd only grumbled in passing about needing a copy of something she didn't have, and a few times he'd offered to bring it in. Which he had.

Speaking of which.

Hermione pushed her hair back and glanced around the main floor of the Ministry, hoping to catch sight of that white blonde hair on the move. She should probably let him know, if he didn't already. Give him a heads up. There was no way a secretary or loud-mouthed coworker wouldn't bring it up.

_It's Friday, at least, _she told herself, but her shoulders were still up around her ears. Tense. _One good thing. Just one good thing. _

It was a practice she tried to keep at; listing at least one good thing a day, to keep her focused on the positive.

_My ankles don't hurt anymore, _she realized, opening her eyes and looking down at her open-toed shoes. It was a new pair that Ginny had convinced her to buy. After sending the catalog to her flat five or six times with the pair circled in obvious Harpy-red ink. They looked good, actually, with her dark toenails peeping out.

Hermione gave herself a quick once-over and felt the tension leave her body. So what if she looked good in that photo? A little too good, even? Anyone paying attention would notice the dessert in front of her, and there was no need to excuse the enjoyment of that. If anything, it was probably Draco who should be a bit embarrassed.

She forked over the knuts for the paper and glanced down at the image again as she moved confidently toward the lifts. She focused now on his actions - the way he was staring directly at her. The way his upper body unfurled across the table with grace, an arm stretching out, his thumb swiping close to her mouth. And then pulling back to put the sweet between his own lips...

In her mind, the image of Draco on his knees before her appeared, with the smudge of her desire on his chin and his eyes bright and focused.

Shaking her head, Hermione began crunching numbers and ratios for a potion she'd been working on at home, trying to get her mind away from their tryst. Unaware that she was getting sideways looks from other riders in the lift. A bit more appreciative than they had been of the bookworm before, perhaps.

* * *

Draco practically skidded into their wing, knocking over a wastebasket in the process. It righted itself, shook, and teetered about until it had collected all of the balled up papers once more.

"Malfoy," an obscure coworker greeted, hustling by. Draco looked up at the clock above the secretary's desk, and then down at her. It was someone new. The last girl - what had her name been - something with an _M. _He should remember, really, they'd slept together at the staff party last year.

This new girl was staring up at him with her mouth slightly open. He stared right back.

"Um," she began, shuffling things around on the desk. "You're a bit..a bit late."

She was right. He was exactly fourteen minutes late. Which never happened. Granger was always early, and he was always on time, but today he was late. All because of the damn paper.

As he thought it his eyes slid down to the secretary's desk, and he saw that loop of an image right on top of a stack of files. _Of course. _

For possibly the fortieth time that morning, he watched himself reach forward and slide his thumb across Granger's chin.

The worst part was, when he'd first seen it that morning on his kitchen table, Draco hadn't even noticed how idiot he looked. No. He'd been focused on Hermione putting that spoon in her mouth again, sliding it between her lips, her eyes heavy-lidded and looking right at him. Merlin, how he wanted to see her looking at him like that again.

But that wasn't the point. He'd woken up this morning, started brewing the coffee that was the only thing with the ability to pry him out of the misery of the early hours, and turned to find that headline on the table.

**Love after Tragedy?**

Really? After tragedy? What tragedy? The tragedy that was their interdepartmental memos banging into the sides of people's heads? One was ramming into Drac's ear this very second, apparently unable to re-direct itself. Swatting at it and cursing under his breath, Draco ducked, heading toward their office.

Just as he reached the door, it opened, and Potter stepped out. Of course.

Dressed in casual clothes, the Boy Who Lived to be an insufferable nuisance stepped out. He'd managed to turn that boyhood awkwardness - the whole _chosen one _situation - into an impressive air of authority, and Draco caught himself almost stumbling as he pulled his outstretched arm back.

Harry's eyes narrowed and he shut the office door behind him with a snap.

"Malfoy," he said quietly, gesturing to the side.

Draco sighed but followed, noticing the rolled up paper clenched in Potter's hand. So. Here it was. He'd already gotten a warning - two warnings - and now he had to pay the price.

But to his surprise, Harry sighed and looked down at his feet.

"Listen," he began begrudgingly, "I want to apologize for the other day. With Ron. You two don't usually leave the office for lunch, and I didn't think he'd try and cause a scene, anyway, especially since he was the one who...you know...got involved with other people."

Harry straightened up, but his eyes still only came to Draco's chin. And Draco was so taken aback that he'd tilted his head back, eyeing Harry cautiously.

"It's...fine..."

"You know you're late, right?"

Draco fought, he really did, but he couldn't help rolling his eyes.

"So this isn't about...the photo then?" he asked, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the paper in Potter's hand. Harry glanced down as if he'd forgotten he was even holding it. Draco watched a smirk that rivaled his own grace his childhood enemy's lips. Harry tipped his head toward the office.

"She's been wondering where you are."

With a nod, Potter straightened up and headed down the hall, back toward the lifts.

Draco watched him go, stepping in front of the door again.

This was it. He was going to walk into their office, into the tentative understanding they had now. And it was probably completely wrecked by their outing having been misconstrued as something more than a work lunch.

Draco opened the door carefully, letting his gaze sweep up from the floor. He expected to see her angry. Or maybe crying, since it was a new thing she was trying out since Weasley. Maybe angry crying?

Whatever he'd been expecting, it wasn't the heels. Or that skirt and how tight it was on her ass as she bent over his desk.

As Draco stepped into the office and pulled the door shut, his mouth dry, he didn't notice the newspaper in the trash. He only noticed Hermione and the way everything seemed brighter about her when she was excited - which she was, surrounded by new files spread across his desk, her eyes wide.

"Draco!" she exclaimed, and at the lack of anger or regret in her voice, he felt a relief he didn't know he was waiting for. "Did you see it?" she asked.

He thought she meant their photo. Confusion flickered across his face. But then she pulled out another paper - an international, reputable paper - and showed him the front page.

There was a new virus running rampant through the werewolf population. And if he knew anything at all about Hermione Granger, it was that she was already putting the pieces together, working on a potential cure.

"I already called our contacts at Mungo's-" she started, practically bouncing toward him in those ridiculous heels, and Draco completely forgot about the potential disaster of the day before.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's note: **I would REALLY appreciate any comments or reviews on this one - it spilled out of me, but was also exhausting to write. And I'm technically supposed to be working right now. But oh well.

Anyway, here's the next installment - hope it tides you over as I catch up on the other two stories!

Happy reading :)

* * *

**Chapter 9**

The virus, it turned out, wasn't deadly. But it was debilitating.

It caused the forearms and shins to deform in a way that made transforming even more painful than it already was for many werewolves. In their human form, anyone with the ailment would have scarring in those areas from their body twisting so unnaturally. Despite the discomfort of it, the transformation was actually a natural process. It went smoothly. But having deformed bones created quite a few snags.

Draco had already analyzed the makeup of the virus and Granger had put together a list of potential ingredients that were non-lethal to werewolves. Their international contacts were sharing information, but so far, he and Granger were far ahead of them, and if things went right tonight they would have a contender for a vaccine in the morning.

Unfortunately, it wouldn't be able to reverse the damage already done, but the virus was contained right now to a very small section of France that was under quarantine. Draco had already had to listen to Granger drone on and on about how there were some Muggle practices - something about physical therapy - that might help the already afflicted.

It was 6 pm on Saturday, and Draco found himself in a hauntingly familiar situation. He was walking down the same corridor that led to their labs, moving briskly, only half-aware of the formulas playing through his mind as his uneasiness grew. But Potter wasn't anywhere to be seen. And Granger had been so taken with this whole affair that she was practically back to her normal self.

Actually, she seemed even better than her normal self, if that was possible. And he noticed it once more as he stepped into the lab.

Granger was bustling around already in a pair of casual sweatpants and a t-shirt. She had her hair piled ridiculously high on top of her head, but a few curls here and there fell into her face, huffed out of the way by an exasperated breath.

She shouldn't have looked as good as she did in such casual clothes.

Upon hearing the door open she turned, saw him, and put her hands on her hips.

"I thought you weren't coming in tonight?" she accused, and that was when he noticed the lack of a bra. Which she seemed to be unbothered by. But it was rather cold down here...

His gaze slid away quickly, only to land on the table he'd had her on so recently. The small but satisfying heft of her breasts in his hands as he'd reached out to steady her rocking body -

"Mother canceled dinner tonight. Turns out she'd rather gossip with the witches than see her only son."

Pulling himself together quickly and putting any thoughts of their previous encounters out of his mind, Draco sniffed and strode into the room, emptying his pockets of a few things.

"Is this-" Granger began, noticing the iridescent shine in one of the vials, and he couldn't help smirking.

"I told you I knew where to find it," he said, ignoring the roll of her eyes.

"You're just lucky that Snape left his entire lab to you. I'm sure you have quite a few illicit ingredients hidden away."

"So where are you at, exactly?"

"You know I can manage this on my own, right?"

"I know, Granger, but you're such a swot that I felt compelled to actually come in and do my part."

She turned toward him, arms crossed, and blew the hair out of her face again. "What if I don't have a part for you?" she goaded, raising her brows. Draco leaned to peer over her shoulder.

"Well one of us has to put the bay leaf in. Like, right now. So -"

She spun around, cursing under her breath, and with floundering hands found the herb and dropped it in quickly, giving the potion a few clockwise stirs.

"It still baffles me that so many potions use an ingredient that muggles have been throwing into stew all of these years," she grumbled.

Draco leaned against the table and shrugged. "Maybe if they got the combination right, they'd end up with something other than braised beef, eh?"

They worked together in silence for the better part of an hour, Draco taking over the stirring of the cauldron while Hermione went through the possible ingredients that could be added from here. She had multiple pages spread out in front of her, arrows and lists leading to possible outcomes. Draco was better at the technicalities; Granger, at the big picture.

She began to mutter to herself and Draco shot her a glance, almost losing count at 48. The pen in her hair was beginning to slide out, and she deftly removed it, letting the curls go free. They blocked out her profile, but she was still rambling on about something, huffing in exasperation. She'd just thrown her hands in the air when he finally had enough, and had to ask.

"Anything I can help with, Granger?"

She seemed to remember then that she wasn't alone - it was something she forgot often, even in their small office - and gave him an apologetic look.

"Sorry. It's just...see these three ingredients here?"

She leaned toward him, bringing up one of the papers. Draco squinted.

"Yes?"

"They would work, but it wouldn't be as potent a batch at the rate we'll need to make them. And there's a ridiculous tax on that last one, Kingsley would kill us if we tried to bring that in in the quantities necessary."

Draco's eyes narrowed as he considered her furrowed brow, the way she was tapping her foot angrily.

"You've figured it out though?"

"Of course I have," she scoffed, letting the paper go to float down to the table's surface. "But it could be _better, _you know. All three of these ingredients have the same exact effects that the powdered wings of a Palos Verdes butterfly would. But they're endangered, they have been for years, and I'm sure if I could just get enough to put in this batch, we could strengthen every batch after with a bit of this one -"

She was rambling again, of course. Always one to ramble, Granger was. It was a habit of hers when she was either frustrated or nervous. Draco glanced down at his watch.

"We've got about an hour and a half of this simmering, yeah?" he asked, tipping his head toward the board where she'd written their steps. Hermione nodded. "Alright. Well let's set a charm on the door so no one will come in and disturb it."

He started toward the exit, listening for her to follow, and almost grinning at the sound of a chair overturning.

"Draco!" she sputtered, knocking into him just as he reached the door. "Where -?"

"You do trust me, don't you?" he asked, turning toward her, and as the words left his mouth he realized that maybe he'd put more meaning into them than he'd meant to.

Hermione stood before him, coming just up to his chin, her eyes scanning his face. He tried to ignore the urge to look down at her chest, which was heaving with the effort of having chased after him.

Granger gave him a short nod, which was enough to send him striding out into the corridor and toward the lifts. She followed right on his heels, no speaking the entire way to the front doors, where he stepped outside and headed toward the apparation point.

She was there when he turned, and she walked into him, not expecting him to stop. He caught her by the upper arm with one hand and the waist with the other. Giving her only a moment to steady herself and look up at him in confusion, he turned them both quickly and snapped out of sight.

* * *

Somehow over the course of seven years he'd never found out that Granger didn't handle side-along well.

It explained a lot of things, actually - why she always left bars alone and walked home, or took a cab, or flooed if absolutely necessary although he knew the powder on her clothing afterwards drove her mad. But the few seconds of panic on her face and the way she clutched his arms gave it away when they landed just outside of his flat. He tried not to grimace at the bite of her nails.

"Don't worry, it's a wizarding flat," he said as she gave him an incredulous look. "People are always popping in, popping out." Without further ado, he unlocked the door with a touch and swung it open, stepping back to let her in first.

Pureblood upbringing and all.

Hermione stepped through the door and Draco found himself suddenly nervous in a way he wasn't accustomed to. He'd brought witches home before, of course, although they weren't normally paying much attention to their surroundings. Not that Granger was.

She walked over to the mantle and examined a portrait of his mother and father - one that didn't move.

At the lift of her brow, he cleared his throat. "It's a little unnerving sometimes, seeing Lucius judge me from a picture frame. I much prefer him being stuck to the canvas."

That wasn't true of all of his photos, though, as others - of him and Pansy in school, of his mother dancing a flawless waltz at a charity - crowded the rest of the surface. Hermione looked at each one, _really _looked, and began to relax.

Draco, however, didn't.

He stood stiffened up against the wall dividing the kitchen from the living room, trying not to chew on the inside of his cheek as he watched his coworker peruse the books he'd left out on the side table. When he couldn't take it anymore, he ducked into the kitchen.

"Would you like a beer?" he called, already reaching into the refrigerator. Granger's bushy head appeared around the corner.

"Draco! We're working!"

"We have an hour and a half to get back. And even if we take a cab -" she shot him a look - "which we _will, _Granger, we'll still be back in time to finish the potion. And then Jones can have it packed up and shipped off first thing in the very, very early hours of the morning."

Hermione made her way into the kitchen and sat carefully on the edge of a chair, still frowning.

"Well alright then," she grumbled, reaching out to take the glass he offered her.

They sipped slowly for a while, both enjoying the calming effects of alcohol, until Draco couldn't help but break the silence.

"You should have told me about your little problem with side-along, you know."

Granger choked a bit, covering her mouth delicately, and glared. It only brought a smirk to his face.

"_You_ should have asked!"

Draco unfolded himself from where he leaned against the counter, pacing the room casually. "Must make things pretty interesting when you try to bring a bloke home, hm?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, of course, because over the course of my almost seven-year-long relationship with Ronald, I've had plenty of opportunities to take men home."

Draco shrugged. "To each his own." He tipped his glass toward her before they both lapsed into silence again.

"That isn't why...you brought me here?" Hermione asked nervously, fingers fretting at the label on the glass.

Draco stared at her, wide-eyed.

He was at once both horrified by her question and hard pressed not to give her the once-over. After all, he had never had a witch of Hermione's caliber in his flat. Definitely not in his kitchen. Not even remotely near his bedroom.

"No," he sputtered, ears flaming red at her insinuation and his indelicate response. "Merlin, no Hermione. Of course not. We -" he cleared his throat - "talked about this. No more of...that. We're coworkers, and we're in the middle of quite an important assignment -"

Hermione winced, curling herself in around the glass.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry. It's just that...you've never invited me to your place before. If you could call surprise side-along an invitation," she scoffed.

"Well don't feel singled out. I don't invite many people over, to be honest."

"Harry said you two hung out here-"

Draco barked out a laugh. "Is that how he phrased it? We _hung out?_" He shook his head, moving to sit next to Hermione, being careful not to let their legs bump. "What I recall of that night is a very, very drunk Potter. And a nasty howler from Ginerva telling him that he better not show up at the house sloshed." He shrugged. "So I let him sleep it off on the couch."

Hermione stared at him.

"Well still. I'm surprised you let Harry over before I'd ever seen the place. We've only been coworkers for years."

The silence ebbed back, as he wasn't sure how to respond to that. But it was growing more comfortable now.

"It is a very nice flat," Granger said quietly, her gaze moving over the kitchen, the order he kept everything in. She grinned. "As spotless as the lab. I'm not surprised."

Draco grinned back at her, ignoring the part of him that was just as flabbergasted as she was.

_Hermione Granger _was in his flat. Of course a large part of why this hadn't ever happened before was the Weasel. If he'd ever gotten wind of Granger being within ten meters of Draco Malfoy's bed, he would have come crashing through that door slinging hexes. But Draco didn't mention that, guessing from the look on her face that the thought had already crossed her mind.

"I didn't just bring you here for a drink," he said, putting his empty glass down on the counter. Hermione drained the rest of hers and followed suit, standing.

He led them down the hall, continuing to chat. "Honestly I was surprised you even came at all. I could have been taking you anywhere. And I know how you love to do things by the book, Granger, but you have to admit with your experience, that's not always what's best for everyone."

He opened his bedroom door and stepped aside, letting her in first once more.

Hermione had a blush to her cheeks that he realized was rather fetching. She'd blushed before, of course, often out of anger at some ribald comment he'd made. But this was something softer, and instead of raising her gaze defiantly, she was looking down at the carpeted floor. He watched her eyes snap up, trail across his bed, the night table, and the blush darkened.

So Hermione Granger was nervous at being along with him in his bedroom. Even after everything they'd seen...and touched.

"Here," he said, enjoying her embarrassment but not wanting to prolong it. He moved toward a tall armoire and pulled open the doors, riffling through a few odds and ends inside. With an exasperated sigh he bent, pulling open another set of doors, and muttering a spell with a wriggle of his fingers.

"Of course you have a hidden compartment."

Hermione spoke from just behind him, and he almost jumped. Giving her a half-hearted glare, he reached up to grab her wrist and tug her down beside him. She almost tumbled to the side, caught herself on his shoulder.

Draco kept eye contact with her as he carefully pulled out the concealed drawer, placing it in front of them on the carpet. He reached in delicately and pulled a vial out by the stopper. The contents gleamed an iridescent blue, and by her gasp, he knew she knew what it was.

"How did you-?" she began, reaching out but not touching the vial. He pulled her hand forward and placed the vial in her palm, wrapping her fingers around it, watching as her wide eyes stared down at it.

"As you said," he murmured, realizing now that her scent was just beginning to infiltrate his senses, "my godfather left me quite a lot in his stores. I hadn't found a use for this yet."

Hermione snapped back to the moment, and pressed the vial back into his hands, shaking her head.

"You need to keep this. It's impossible to get more, with the Palos Verdes almost extinct, and there are so many properties -"

"Granger," he interrupted, holding her by the shoulders and jarring her lightly. "There's no better cause than this. I will never need this powder more than the hundreds, possibly thousands, of werewolves out there who are suffering right now. Just take it. We can worry about where I'll illegally obtain more later."

He was still holding her by the shoulders as they both crouched over the vial, and their faces were impossibly close. He could feel her breath on his lips. It drew him forward, set him off balance, so that he rocked toward her -

and caught himself almost immediately.

Hermione Granger was in his room. He would never have another witch of this caliber so close, didn't _deserve _it, and he certainly didn't deserve the wide-eyed and raw look she was giving him after he'd botched up their working relationship and most likely her social reputation.

So he pulled back, sat on his haunches for a moment before standing, and held a hand out to help her up.

She took it, and when she stood, the blush was gone from her cheeks. But she was looking at him the way she often looked at potions recipes. Trying to figure him out. She'd done that before, at first, when they'd been shoved into that ridiculously small office together. But now Draco caught the drop of her gaze to his mouth, and he swallowed heavily.

Everything before this had made sense. Having her on the desk. And then in the lab. It was all about overwhelming desire, natural instinct, nothing more. And gaining her back as a friend and coworker was about something more delicate. But the way she was looking at him now...it stirred a hope for _more _in his chest, and it was too much to bear.

Draco stepped around her and moved toward the hallway, pausing to look over his shoulder.

"Are you coming, Granger?" he asked the strong-headed and soft-hearted witch who stood in his room.

She nodded, pocketed the vial, and followed him out.

"So," he quipped, grabbing a light jacket on their way out, "what shall it be? Fancy a walk, or should I flag down a cab?"


End file.
